Stone Hedges

I love the rough hewn prosody of the stone hedges... I think

of the farmer who built them,

his unshaven face beneath

the broad brim of a hat

and the star of morning in his eyes.

I think of how the songs of birds

lightened the weight of his task,

the hidden bliss he felt

in finding the right place

for the shape of each stone

and how the stones themselves

became sacred in his hands

and wedded him to the earth.

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